


Harvest Moon

by wisteria_prince



Category: Monster (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but can be read as platonic, slight angst but more fluff as you read, small tenma character study w/ sections that are kinda romantically coded(?), this talks abt tenma's unhealthy eating habits but also how he's trying to remedy them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24095419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisteria_prince/pseuds/wisteria_prince
Summary: “Everyone is buried with different sins.Those sins will never disappear.But you still have to go on.”---Tenma remembers those words when living is hard and his appetite is gone. Grimmer always makes sure he eats and for that he is grateful.
Relationships: Wolfgang Grimmer & Tenma Kenzou, Wolfgang Grimmer/Tenma Kenzou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	Harvest Moon

**Author's Note:**

> As weird as this may sound, I think the series does some interesting explorations around the culture of food and the mysterious intimacy associated with eating meals with other people. I also adore the concept of food as a love language (especially when it comes to these two!!) so that's the topic I wanna delve into with this one.

As a medical professional, it’s not hard for Tenma to recognize when a person is driving down the path of an unhealthy life. Even so, that doesn’t make it any easier for him to stop any of his own bad habits. 

If asked, he can’t really recall how many days, weeks, or months he started running. Certainly any detective or journalist with the right resources could track down the origins of his fugitive lifestyle from the very first headline that suspected him for murder, but even so, the actual date and duration don’t really matter. What’s more important is the amorphous quality to time that can make any person sick at the thought of it. This was a temporal space where days blended not because of stagnant mudananity but due to the constant whirlwind of events, where so much continually happens so quickly, you lose touch with your own locus of control. 

The makeshift solution then, at least what Tenma can believe, is to live from one day to the next. After all, situations of the present pulsated with so much urgency that despite the past pushing him, and taking up so much of his mind, he couldn’t afford to think about it abstractly from how it affected the current day. Beyond that lie a world that wasn’t promised and therefore hardly prioritized: the future. 

Tenma knows, or rather, hopes there will exist a future proceeding the moment he kills the man whose life he should have never resurrected. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t imagine it. He didn’t have the time.

In the absence of that time exists a type of neglect, and for Tenma, that was neglect of his own self care. It wasn’t like he was doing this on purpose either. He was just so focused on others around him and people moving steps ahead of him. He was so focused on _Johan._ He’d find himself absorbed in figuring out locations and links between people and events that he’d forgo anything that didn’t revolve around saving lives or the deep, guilt ridden contemplation of taking them. Such narrow attention explained the length of his thick, shaggy hair and the unshaven stubble forming above his lips and on his chin. Ever since he left Eisler, he stopped caring about appearances, but ignoring that wasn’t dangerous on the surface. No, Tenma had left something behind that was far worse than abandoning basic grooming etiquette. 

He wasn’t eating properly and he knew it. 

Admittedly, he had developed a rather weird and dysfunctional relationship with food. Back when he worked at the hospital, things were simpler. Food functioned as a necessity but also a luxury that took the form of buffets at lavish dinner parties and humble bouts of at home cooking with his ex-fiancée. There were numerous options for meals often taken for granted and each bestowed an enjoyment of flavor and potential for new connections. But of course, things were different now. The culinary experience was no longer a necessity cloaked in occasional amusement but a part of the daily routine that needed to be done, just to stay alive. This was fine, as theoretically speaking, Tenma had always seen food as fuel first and foremost but where things went wrong was when he couldn’t convince himself to do the bare minimum. 

If he wasn’t distracted and forgetful about eating, he just didn’t feel like it. 

The number of barely touched cups of coffee and wasted plates he left behind at restaurants across the country embarrassed him but lately whenever he’d try to force something down, he’d either feel an urge to act upon hearing a new, vital piece of information, or the festering nausea he wanted to avoid would flare up. A few bites in and he’d become physically ill. But if it wasn’t enough then the migraines would worsen. At least he could drink water to stay hydrated but even that could be a struggle in its own way. 

Tenma didn’t need to step on a scale in a hotel bathroom to know he was losing weight but when he did, it only solidified that what was happening was a problem. This was a problem so precarious, complete strangers offered him food. A few of them became friends and allies while most just saw a foreign passerby on the street that walked so haggardly he could faint. But he could never stay too long, lest someone reported him to the police or slowed him down from handling unfinished business. 

The man he met on the fast moving train towards Prague changed things for him. 

He had a peculiar smile, feigning some kind of disposition Tenma didn’t really understand. His words didn’t exactly match his tone of voice, and the amount of information he knew bordered on that of an individual well versed in espionage. They shared but few sentences between them yet somehow he knew things like Tenma’s name, background, and the fact that his passport was fake. He even helped him escape the police for whatever reason. 

Tenma didn’t expect the same man to follow him in the midst of the trees and valleys that graced the land between Germany and the Czech Republic. He watched him approach with silent apprehension, examining for motive or intent. Tension crept onto his shoulders until the taller man reached into a large sack, and out of all the things Tenma thought he could’ve pulled out of such a heavy, suspicious looking duffel bag, he wasn’t expecting wine and a block of cheese. 

At the strangest time, Wolfgang Grimmer decided to have an impromptu picnic with him. He wasn’t exactly excited for such an occasion but one glance at the man’s enthusiasm alongside the smell of bread and meat reminding him he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days convinced him to sit down at the very least. 

The last picnic he could remember was with Eva. That was years ago, before they were engaged. Far long before all of these serial murders. Their date was a bit of a laughable disaster Tenma chalked up to poor planning on his end. He struggled to find a good spot in the park where the wind didn’t blow too hard and the grass wasn’t too wet with freshly rained soil. When the blanket slipped out from the carefully placed stone, tipping over the basket and letting its contents hit the ground, he sheepishly laughed at the mistake despite the intense glare she shot back at him. It felt like she was staring through him for a moment, as if searching for something to evaluate but he ignored it at the time. Eva was always like that yet Tenma imagined some part of her took pleasure in his company even then. 

If only the scenery they shared was as gorgeous as the cliff tops that traced the border. 

Tenma wanted to like this picnic as much as Grimmer seemed to like the atmosphere around them but he was too fixated on the unsettling stillness in his fingers to enjoy the meal properly. The hands that unwrapped a sandwich were the same ones that pulled the trigger and presumably shot a man to death in that library fire. Albeit, Roberto was a hired hitman bathed in his own set of vices, and had Tenma not acted quickly enough, more could have died. He certainly would have died. 

Why was it easier to fire the second bullet in comparison to the first?

Why didn’t he look away from the sight of Roberto’s body convulsing before falling off the burning banister into the panicked sea of people below?

Why did his hands stop shaking?

He only did what he needed to but at that time Tenma stared into the eyes of a beast and became as him. He couldn’t forgive himself.

_How could he?_

The man sitting on the white blanket across from him didn’t know of his sins until he confessed but surprisingly, he didn't pass judgement. He just sat there quietly with a pensive look on his face before pointing a paper bag at his side. 

“If you’re not in the mood for this now, why don’t I wrap these back up for you so you can keep them for the road?”

At first, the question landed like a cruel joke, utterly tasteless. That is, until Tenma glanced down to realize the carefully prepared sandwiches this stranger offered him were about to go to waste. 

Packaging them once more might not be a bad idea. 

It was at a desk in a hotel room in Prague where he unraveled the plastic cling film for a second time and remembered the words Grimmer left him with. 

“Everyone is buried with different sins. 

Those sins will never disappear. 

But you still have to go on.” 

The statement alone couldn’t fix his nausea but it did give him a faint sense of hope alongside a specific desire. 

If possible, he wanted to see this man again. 

To say their reunion occured on jarring terms is certainly an understatement.

Fearing the worst, Tenma found him in the center of a dilapidated room with a calm expression that was unbecoming of the grotesque scene laid out before them. He tended to Suk’s wounds as well as those of the unknown gunmen with disfigured faces as asked, trying to ignore the residue of Steiner’s work which spattered the walls and stained Grimmer’s clothes. Hearing the words 511 Kinderheim in conjunction with the origins of the nightmarish entity that painted this unsettling image made Tenma refrain from all judgement, just as the same man had done for him. He understood that wherever this winding path continued at this point, it was likely they would walk the trail together to some extent... 

As far as new developments could take them...

Tenma slowly opened his eyes, temporarily blinded by rays of light cutting through the window curtains. He felt groggy and a brief sense of disorientation took hold of him upon hearing running water and murmurs of people talking in a language he couldn’t understand. The television was broadcasting the morning news and the convenient timestamp in the corner of the screen let Tenma know he overslept. He wondered if the issue was that the alarm clock on the nightstand didn’t go off or if he missed it somehow. No, he remembered setting it last night so it must have sounded. _But if that was true, why didn’t he hear it? And why was it turned off now?_ He frowned. He knew his circadian rhythm only seemed to deteriorate with every passing night but he never thought to consider himself a heavy sleeper. Regardless, it was time to get up.

A quick scan of the room revealed everything excluding the desk where Tenma left his bag and draped his clothes over the chair appeared immaculate, an indication that Grimmer was not only awake but ready to go. They were currently in the midst of negotiations with the secret police over Suk’s whereabouts and that chilling tape recording so, as things seemed to be for a while, today was going to be a long day. Despite that, Tenma could recall Grimmer saying something last night about wanting to go somewhere first thing in the morning before usual groundwork. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late for that. 

The faucet audibly cut off and the bathroom door opened.

“Well good morning Doctor. I figured I’d let you sleep a few extra minutes but it looks like you’re wide awake now.” Grimmer approached the bed to have a seat, drying his hands with a small towel. 

“Morning. I appreciate it but I should’ve been up sooner.” Tenma checked the drawer in the nightstand to make sure it was empty. He looked at his dress shirt and tattered coat with mild disgust, knowing he still needed to shower. Perhaps he should fix his bag first. 

“We’re not going to be late for what you wanted to do are we?” Grimmer shook his head. 

“I don’t think so. The cafe doesn’t close until noon.”

Tenma paused.

_“The cafe?”_

There was no way he misheard that. Soft laughter from the other side of the room confirmed just as much. 

“I don’t know about you but I can’t work on an empty stomach!”

This cafe was a quaint family owned business placed on the outskirts of the city. It was strangely intimate for the two of them to be the only ones there but it did seem like the kind of venue that didn’t receive much foot traffic. While Grimmer skimmed through the menu, Tenma occupied himself with headlines in the local paper, lazily waving a hand away when the taller man offered him a chance to see what the shop had to offer. It wasn’t necessary. Soon enough, the smell of fresh lingonberry jam, baked bread, and sausage filled the air, complemented by tea leaves and a pure black roast. Tenma stared at his reflection through the shop window, noting the dull hues of his dry, tired eyes. The lackluster clink of silverware and not so subtle clearing of a voice across the table drew his attention away from himself, towards Grimmer’s vicinity. 

“You’re not going to order anything?” Tenma furrowed his brow. 

“I ordered coffee.”

“I can see that. But I mean something else?”

“I’m not really hungry,” he replied. The inquisitive look on Grimmer’s face was hard to describe but vanished as quickly as he noticed it, that signature peculiar grin covering it up completely. 

“Well, you can have my leftovers! How does that sound?”

Tenma smiled feebly. He couldn’t detect any sarcasm in that invitation. He returned to the paper, taking small sips of coffee in hopes the caffeine would kick in soon. The silence between the two was remedied by Grimmer softly humming an admittedly familiar song and he chose not to question him until the melody abruptly came to a halt. The tinny noise of metal hitting porcelain accentuated the full stop. 

“This doesn’t seem right though, does it?”

“What do you mean?” Tenma asked.

“The fact that I have a full breakfast on this table and all you have is coffee. It seems rude on my end.” Grimmer paused, as if searching for the proper words.

“Makes me think I shouldn’t have gotten this.”

“Don’t say that. Breakfast is important.”

“Then why do you seem to skip it so often?”

The question hit hard. 

_It wasn’t like he was trying to._

The bitter sense of guilt weighed heavily today like most days, weeks, and months had been. Strong, bold flavored coffee beans simply weren’t enough to wash it away. Even that was far too bland. 

“You don’t have to answer that question,” Grimmer spoke up. “Honestly, I don’t want to pressure you. I mean, you’re a doctor. I’m sure you understand these things better than I do.”

He understood all too well. He had a problem. But hell if he had the motivation to do anything about it. 

He shouldn’t have agreed to come here. Not if his poor habits were going to make another person worry about him or God forbid, feel guilty on his own behalf. 

The steam from his cup dissipated. 

“Could you at least try something though?” Grimmer pointed at a buttered roll resting in a small basket. “For me I mean, so I can know if it’s good?”

“If you want to know that, you’re better off asking the waitress right?” The inflection in Tenma’s voice was sincere. 

“That may be true but I’m not asking her. I’m asking _you_.”

The roll in question decidedly wasn’t very special in Tenma’s opinion. Maybe he could appreciate it more in better circumstances but at least Grimmer seemed pleased that he could humor his suggestion to test it. When asked about trying other things, Tenma politely declined. He truly didn’t want anything, no matter how good it looked or how wonderful Grimmer claimed it to be. For all intents and purposes, the man could enjoy it for the both of them. 

They left the cafe with a small paper bag in tow, the restaurant’s insignia illustrated on the front. Grimmer casually passed it to a confused Tenma on their way to call a taxi. 

“I said I’d let you have the leftovers. What you choose to do with them is up to you.”

Lacking the resolve to empty its contents nor having the gall to throw it away himself, the bag sat on the desk of their hotel room with a small note attached to one of the handles. Housekeeping could deal with it as they saw fit. 

“You need to eat, Doctor.”

A dim light bulb screwed into a rustic wooden ceiling fan flickered overhead. Brick finish on the walls and folk music playing on the radio made for a nearly cozy atmosphere in the restaurant Tenma originally didn’t want to see. A plate of pastries separated the two with both halves of the table sporting dishes of roasted pork, dumplings, and sauerkraut accompanied with garlic soup and draft beer. As presentable as it was, he didn’t order any of it nor was he worried about footing his share of the bill until Grimmer insisted on paying for everything before the food arrived. Tenma supposed investigations into recent affairs had been going better than expected but not worthy of celebrating with something this grand. Then again, he knew this wasn’t to commemorate anything. 

_Dinner is just an ordinary part of the day, or rather, it should be._

“You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

Tenma nervously shifted in his chair, partially taken aback by the serious tone exuding from Grimmer’s voice. He could feel the man staring at him, searching for something but not trying to pick him apart. The gaze was heavy but not intrusive nor wholly confrontational. Tenma opened his mouth to speak but the right response didn’t come to mind. Grimmer’s expression softened. 

“You know, before we met on the train, I read a lot about you. I can even say I’m honored that I’ve been able to watch how you act in person up until now. You’re a good man. I’m sure a lot of people care about you. That being said, they probably wouldn’t like to see how you treat yourself.” 

It was a fair point. One he certainly heard before in passing. These weren’t words he tried to ignore either. On the contrary, he always acknowledged them as he did at the table now but often acknowledgement was as far as he could go.

He quietly cut into one of the dumplings with a fork, raking a bit of sauerkraut on top. He swallowed hard, forcing it past the lump in his throat. 

“Maybe it’s easier for me to say this than for you to feel this way but this doesn’t have to be painful,” Grimmer began again. “People deserve to enjoy a good meal. You do realize that right?”

In the midst of wordlessly cutting into another dumpling, Tenma stopped. 

“It’s….difficult sometimes.” He chose those words carefully. 

“I understand. But it’s worth it, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Tenma had to admit the cheery demeanor in his voice was undoubtedly contagious, easing some of the anxiety festering in the pit of his stomach. How in the world a man who had seen so much and been so irreversibly hurt by his past could still muster up a healthy appetite, he did not know but if Grimmer could do it somehow then he could try. 

And while he was at it, he could try striking up a less dreary conversation as well.

Sitting at the table like this reminded him of eating with Dr. Reichwein and Dieter. He missed them terribly. Tensions were high even then but in occupying that house together for a period of time, there was always this sense that no matter how uncertain tomorrow seemed, things would be alright. He wasn’t alone anymore. He has people to support him. 

He has people that care about him and if he can’t always do it for himself, he needs to live for _them._

He never wants to let them down, so in a way, he can’t let himself go. 

The soup was good. Not good enough to drink the broth without a bit of a mental fight but good. 

It was almost as if talking or simply having someone else’s affirmation made it more palatable. 

A few branches from a bending tree tapped rhythmically against the water speckled window pane, a sign of the wind picking up speed. Crackles of thunder startled Tenma out of an unanticipated nap, head jerking upright against the inertia to nod off again. A glance at the clock showed he was only out for five minutes or so but now wasn’t the time for a break. Lightning briefly emblazoned the sky. Apparently, the downpour that occured during their search for Milosh the previous night continued into the following afternoon. The rushing pursuit through the red light district only to find the child catatonically standing on the edge of a bridge felt surreal and harrowing in ways that shook him to his core, but the relief overtook the despair when they saved him felt incredibly real. As the scene replayed in his mind, Tenma found himself unbelievably grateful that they weren’t too late. He couldn't say in good faith that everything was fine but there exists the potential for things to be better. 

For life to be better, the cycle of suffering needs to end. 

He has to find a way to assure no one can put a person through the kind of experiences children like Milosh were forced to see. 

He needs to end this. 

Another bout of thunder and lightning erupted outside. As Tenma flipped a page of the report lying on the desk, he could hear Grimmer approach but didn’t turn to notice what he was carrying. The taller man pulled the chain on the nearby lamp, illuminating the text from the shadows of ill-sufficient natural light. 

“I don’t know if you’ll want them now, but I made these.”

Two pretzel bun sandwiches with tomatoes, ham, and cheese wrapped in a napkin were placed next to the case file Tenma held in his hands. He was starving. But he wouldn’t overlook it this time. 

“Thank you.”

As with every recent meal, the smell was nostalgic.

It reminded him of escaping to the woods with Nina after running from the police on the road to Heidelberg. It can be argued that was the day he truly became a fugitive in Germany. Looking back, it felt like a long time ago and he remembered that she made sandwiches for him just like those in front of him before she disappeared. Like Dr. Reichwein and Dieter, he missed _her_ too. But even so, the sentiment behind lunch then and now was different. This felt different. Given the context, it was understable but… she left him. He was alone that time. The solitude was chilling. But now, Grimmer was here sitting next to him, his presence warm, words and actions comforting. And whenever Tenma struggled to keep up with the basic ingredients to maintain the recipe of life, he had someone to hold him accountable again. Someone to make sure he’d try. 

Just the reassurance of another human being there with him was enough to make his heart swell. 

“It’s a shame it’s raining outside, Mr. Grimmer.” 

At the rate things seemed through the curtains, it wouldn’t stop anytime soon. 

“You don’t like rain, doctor?” Tenma shook his head. 

“That’s not it. It’s just… with food like this, it would’ve been a nice day for a picnic.”

Grimmer paused, presumably lingering on those words but then smiled brightly. 

_A nice day it would’ve been indeed._

Tenma stuck the key into the lock but was surprised to see the lightest touch opened the door. He came back a little later than intended but certainly not empty handed. Rumors of a publisher for Franz Bonaparta living in the area appeared to be true and he planned to pay that person a visit. But that’s the plan for tomorrow. Now, his attention was absorbed by other questions like why the door was unlocked, or what was Grimmer doing at the coffee table or…

_What was that strong aroma in their room?_

“Excellent timing doctor! I’m so glad you’re back!” Tenma let his bag hit the floor near the entrance, fixated on the napkins, silverware, and chopsticks Grimmer placed on the table. 

“I’m glad to see you too, Mr. Grimmer.” He paused, thinking about telling him his next move but refrained. Business could be discussed afterwards. 

“I see we’re having dinner?” Grimmer nodded, removing the lid off of a steaming heavy bottomed pot resting on an oven mitt on the desk next to plain, white dishes. 

“If you’ll join me then yes! I actually just walked in here right before you so why don’t you freshen up while I finish setting the table?”

As Tenma scrubbed his hands in the bathroom, he took a moment to study himself in the mirror. The same tired, puffy eyes stared back at him and he could’ve been mistaken but there seemed to be more color in his face. No, without a doubt, weeks ago his skin looked pale and sickly. He couldn’t fully shake the appearance of sleep deprivation and stress but surely some modicum of vibrancy came back. Shutting off the faucet, he could still hear Grimmer’s voice from around the corner. 

“You know the orphanage that Milosh is staying at? Well, the staff there was kind enough to let me use their kitchen so I tried cooking.” 

Tenma almost dropped his hand towel when he saw the kind of meal they were going to have. 

“This is my first time making it so I’m not sure how it turned out but when I was in Japan, I had something like this.”

_No wonder the incredible smell was so familiar…_

The plates contained potatoes, carrots, onions, and beef, covered in a soy sauce broth. It was beef and potato stew. Tenma hadn’t made the comfort food nor seen it in what felt like a long time and yet….like a strange case of déjà vu there it was, piping hot, sitting in front of him. 

His heart rate sped up and he instinctively reached for a glass of water to calm down. 

“It’s probably not authentic but-”

“This is wonderful.” The words came out automatically, despite the fact that out of the two of them, Tenma didn’t know how to react. Although he questioned whether or not he should start eating then and there, what he felt wasn’t exactly anxiety or fear but it made him alert. Adrenaline rushed through his blood, displaying itself as nervous hands pressed into a prayer of gratitude and trembling fingers picking up the chopsticks at his side. 

“I can’t say I’m very good with chopsticks so I hope you’re not too offended that I’m using this spoon,” Grimmer said, shly rubbing the back of his neck. The comment made Tenma laugh, memories of the time he shared this stew with a certain clumsy army veteran and a quiet young girl resurfacing.

“It’s tricky at first but you can do it easily with a little practice.”

“I’m sure that’s true but I think I’ll spare us both the embarrassment for tonight.”

With that, the table fell into silence. Several thoughts rushed to Tenma’s head but none of them coherent enough to express nor comprehend thus culminating in him sitting there beside himself. He could feel Grimmer staring at him and wanted to say something but nothing came to mind. But if he couldn’t speak, he at least needed to try what the man made for him. After all, Grimmer went through all the trouble to prepare something so-

“D-doctor Tenma.” 

It was strange, hearing him stutter. Even more odd that he didn’t follow up his name with anything else, as if he said it as a question. An opportunity to pull him out of whatever mental state kept him trapped. A reality check. 

When Tenma tasted the stew, his eyes widened. 

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t-”

“No. It’s….delicious. Thank you.”

...And yet it felt greater than that. Greater than the seasoning, and the rich flavor, clear care that went into the dish was the fact that it tasted like… 

Like home. Like returning somewhere he felt he should have been. Except, it was better than that. In truth, Tenma never truly felt connected to his home. His parents rarely called or wrote letters and neither did he. Not when he got promoted at Eisler. Not when he asked Eva to marry him. Not when he was at the peak of success or the start of trouble in the form of false accusations. Definitely not now. The failure to communicate wasn’t out of spite either but habit or rather lack thereof. 

But now, he felt he was returning to a new kind of home. An idealized one. One that could exist. 

One that does exist. 

He experienced it before in different people. Dearest friends left behind on the road. 

But this version in particular is one he doesn’t want to let go.

Consciously aware of the other man’s gaze, Tenma glanced up to see Grimmer looking at him puzzlingly, mouth slightly agape.

“That’s...That’s the first time I’ve seen you finish a plate of anything.”

Shockingly, there were hardly any remnants left on the plate in front of him. 

Tenma smiled. 

_It was the first time in a while for him too._

It was midday on a breezy cobblestone sidewalk in the city where Tenma rediscovered the bittersweet pain of saying goodbye. The beckoning pull of the Red Rose Mansion, the contents of the letter for the Czech police, the necessity for constant movement under the reproachful eyes of the law, these were all indications that it was time to pursue separate roads. 

In a single exchange with the local authorities, the man known as Wolfgang Grimmer will become a fugitive too and Tenma needed to learn to accept that fact. 

The handshake was naturally firm and short yet Tenma found a part of him wanting the touch to linger a little more. It’s an embarrassingly selfish request written plainly on his face that fell on deaf ears not because Grimmer wouldn’t listen if he spoke but because he might not understand.

A longing to reach out once more burned his fingertips. He wished to stay in this period of interlude without consequence or obligation, as if the world would resolve every problem around them on its own. 

What a foolish thought. 

Life is never that easy but it’s okay. It leaves things for people to look forward to. Like picnics with the finest wine and the best cheese over beautiful scenery with warm feelings that may not adequately have names but are nonetheless the building blocks for connections. The kind of connections that facilitate healing and revitalize the human experience in a way every person desperately needs. 

Yes, they would have that picnic when all of this is over. It's a promise they made the very first day they met and a promise reaffirmed before inevitable departure. 

Kenzo Tenma is haunted by actions he’s uncertain to call mistakes and exhausted by the darkness of humanity but carries on because he still has hope. He will miss Grimmer but vows that somewhere, on another fateful day in a better time, they will meet again. And maybe then, he’ll be the one treating _him_ to wonderful food. 

_One small, quiet moment at a time._

**Author's Note:**

> i swear you guys I just want them to be happy :,^) also yea, in my mind they have that picnic and everyone is there. okay, not everybody but those who should be there are there. lunge and suk get invites too ya know


End file.
